


//hunger

by MostlyAMan



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Cannibalism, Guro, Horror, M/M, Wound Fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyAMan/pseuds/MostlyAMan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orochi Iori/Shingo Yabuki. Guro. Cannibalism, wound-fucking. Shingo falls willing prey to a rabid beast and pays the price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	//hunger

His tongue was roughened from mouth-breathing and exertion, sour and metallic from an upset stomach filled only with blood. It rasped against the boy's neck, tasting him with such vile relish that he couldn't push him away- small throaty moans and groans of arousal and agony begged his young prey not to move. Claw-like nails dug into his chest and shoulder, holding him down with little effort.  
  
Shingo knew he was probably sick for enjoying it.  
  
He'd gotten over that hurdle when he knew Yagami could  _smell him_  in that weird state, staring at him with eyes like saucers glowing foul yellow. He was not screaming, which could only have been a good thing- watching such a fearsome man hot with sweat trying to claw his clothes from his tight, muscled body was impossible not to notice, and his groaning proved itself downright erotic in all the ways it shouldn't have. He threw up twice; once his beers, then his blood with startling urgency, retching and spitting and roaring until there was nothing more. Yagami was a sick man, but the coolness and danger he exuded just served to draw the young man closer to a sticky end, playing with teeth and fire that could go nasty at any time- he was a forbidden roulette-fruit with a seam of poison holding the flesh together, that smelt of sickly sweet death and the bodies of those before him. The hunched beast rushed him down and clawed at him, struck him until he bled and lapped the bleeding nose, then busied himself with tough flesh.  
  
Iori couldn't be blamed for his condition, it wasn't like Shingo didn't know the story. Tentatively, he reached up to touch the man's hair; it was surprisingly well-kept, recently dyed and smooth to the touch. A growl made him jerk his hand back, but when it evolved into a deep inhalation that savoured the scent of sweat in his hair and the salt of his skin, the boy could not help but tuck red aside until clawed hands were pushing his head away.  
  
Yagami held the youth's eyes for a heavy, ticking moment.  
  
There was a vulnerability in the horror-stricken, desperate possessed eyes. The way his chest heaved, the worry that contorted his face, a deep pain and great discomfort, a sickness of the soul that made him lean in again and touch Shingo's face once more-- that hand was weighty, disbelieving.  
  
 _Why are you not afraid?_  
  
 _I will **eat**  you._  
  
Shingo forced a lopsided, tentative smile as his fingers drifted down his red-marred, tight white t-shirt until he found the hem, curled under it and pulled the garment upwards, exposing his rapidly rising and falling abdomen. His muscle was thick, but fat rounded him out into a healthy, soft curve that seemed so inviting.  
  
 _If you want to... Then I don't mind._  
  
They communicated silently. Iori's unearthly eyes flicked downwards, hungering, and reached out with claws to feel the flesh. It was a heavy, shaking touch, too hard already as if he wasn't able to truly control it. Without waiting, he pressed down, hard, until nails punctured skin and force kept it going until he  _tore--_  
  
  
And he was pulling handfuls of entrails from the screaming young man, shoving them into his mouth voraciously. Tough intestine was round between his molars until it burst and he swallowed, consuming like a bird until he bit down harder and with a grotesque gnawing, severed it from the tangle. Blood, bile and vile fuid dripped from Iori's maw as he panted for breath, which he licked up with bloodied tongue, smearing his face with a blackened mix of filth.  
  
Another disgusting mouthful after another was shovelled into his waiting mouth, hot and delicious to the crazed predator, who moaned openly when a thick bulge in his tight red jeans was rubbed by a shaky hand. He humped the touch with a throaty, bubbling noise as blood frothed at his mouth, only serving to ruin his crisp white shirt more intensely. On his knees, he shambled forwards until he was grinding himself into an open deadly wound. The boy's uneven hand pried open the button as hips slammed into his palm, tugged down black underwear and freed a slab of cock that gouged a new path wherever he struck.  
  
Frenzied, the Orochi fucked the hole he made in the young fighter with a punishing, uncaring pace. All that twigged was animalistic lust, the tight, slick, heated improvised orifice so perfect that he made it sloppier with excited pre-release. From the chest to knees, he was covered in vicious red and patches of sickly black, fucking hard and nasty, an invader in a willing, pliant body that placed so much trust in the man buried so deep within.  
  
Iori came with a strangled scream, all over too fast, injecting shot after shot of thick, sticky white into a cavity that should never have seen such an organ. He drooled down himself as he howled, gripping Shingo's jacket in an unrelenting vice, hips jerking as he rode out an intense orgasm-- his eyes slid shut and with his last twitch, snarled low and satisfied.  
  
  
When he came around, he was collapsed on top of a boy barely breathing, eyes glossy and far away, blood congealed with spunk, a heartbeat fading. He was powerless.  
  
The hand he clasped was cold.  
  
Tears beaded in his eyes as he held it to his sticky, guilty lips.  
  
 _No..._  
  
God, he was beyond redemption.


End file.
